Premonition of Recognition
by amazuppai
Summary: When most people begin to reach adulthood, they worry about jobs and houses and cars and taxes and finding a comfortable place for themselves in the world. When Allen begins to reach adulthood, he worries about whether or not he'll live to see the start of it.
1. Alignment

Allen is still very new to this school, but for once he doesn't feel terribly like an outsider. Lenalee, a kind young woman who is in a couple of his classes, had decided to befriend him from day one, introducing herself and asking things about Allen that somehow don't feel intrusive like every other time he'd been asked. She runs through the usual questions, as one would, _where are you from, have you been to America before, is that your natural hair colour, are you British_. She seems to avoid any questions about his appearance other than his hair, which she tells him looks 'totally rad on him', and he appreciates it; it had been a long time since he could talk to anyone new without getting weird looks or a query on what had happened to his face.

Then she invites him to sit with her at lunch. At first he isn't sure what to say, but saying no wouldn't really get him anywhere, and he figures it might be a nice change of pace. She seemed to be on good terms with nearly everyone in the school, the heart of the student body. He likes that about her; she's friends with everybody and doesn't take sides. She has two friends in particular that she seems closest to, who Allen is introduced to as she leads him over to what appears to be their usual place, sitting next to her across from the two older boys. One is a guy who looks friendly enough, a smile wide on his freckle-dusted face, his shock of red hair held back with a headband. He has only one eye, brilliant vibrant green, the other covered by a patch that Allen couldn't help but be a little curious about. The other he feels like he should avoid, even if he is (in Allen's unbiased opinion) a relatively attractive man, with dark hair and sharp features and a glare that seems to cut into his soul.

"Oh, who's the fresh meat?" the redhead asks, leaning forward as if to get a closer look at said meat.

"Guys, this is Allen," Lenalee says as she sits down beside the younger boy, smiling. "He just moved here, so treat him nice."

"I want to treat him more than 'nice', god _damn_."

"Lavi!" Lenalee pulls a face at him, and he holds his hands up in mock surrender, while Allen tries to figure out what to make of this guy. She turns back to Allen with an apologetic smile, apparently very used to this kind of behaviour. "Sorry, that's his way of saying hi. If he flirts with you, just punch him in the mouth, okay?"

"Aw, Lena, you wound me!" he cries, holding a hand to his chest for emphasis. Then he sticks his hand out towards Allen, smiling gently at him. "Pleasure to meet you, though. The name's Lavi."

"The pleasure's mine," he replies, taking Lavi's hand and shaking it. It's firm, strong; he either worked with his hands a lot, or had shaken many a hand before. Perhaps both.

Lavi withdraws the hand, opting for resting his chin in it and his elbow on the table as he observes the younger boy. "I gotta say, I really like your eye," he says, and Lenalee stiffens a little. "It looks mad gnarly."

Allen just laughs, more sincerely than he'd thought. "Why, thank you. I was just thinking about how lovely your patch is, it looks very dashing on you."

He perks up, a little surprised. "Did you hear that, Lena? Dashing! I like you, Allen, you can stay. What do you think, Yū?"

Allen's attention is now brought to the other man at the table, who hadn't said a single word or even so much as acknowledged his presence. He was kind of glad for that, because the look he receives is not one he enjoys having directed at him in the slightest. "He freaks me out," the man mutters, sharp and refined with hints of an old accent Allen can't quite place.

"Kanda! That's not very nice," Lenalee scolds, and Lavi even gives him a slight nudge in the ribs, which earns him a slap upside the head.

"It's alright," Allen says, giving them a smile. "He's not the only one freaked out by a guy here."

"Is that supposed to mean something, brat?" the older guy –Kanda, he thinks– growls at him, and Allen simply gives him the smile he reserves for when he feels particularly like being a pain. "I swear, kid, you fuck with me and it will be the _last_ thing you ever do."

Lavi laughs a little uneasily, grabbing Kanda's hand where he'd been holding a fork out threateningly. "Alright, dear, I think poor Allen's had enough of your antics for one day. People can only take so much a time if they're not used to you."

"He'll be dead before he gets used to me," Kanda snaps, but he drops the fork, instead gathering his things and storming away from the table with a flick of hair that would be obnoxiously long if it didn't look so good on him.

"Don't worry," Lenalee assures him, "He's always like that with new people. Sort of."

"Charming," Allen replies, and wonders how someone like that had managed to be befriended by lovely people like Lenalee and Lavi.


	2. The Beginning of Something Memorable

There is something about Allen Walker that Kanda simply doesn't like. Actually, there are a lot of things about Allen that he simply doesn't like. The kid is an enigma, and not the healthy kind. It isn't just the way he looks, with hair that shade of white and the bizarre scar down his face, it's in the way he _moves_, smooth and easy yet entirely too cautious, as though he expects anyone and everyone to turn on him at the drop of a hat. His smile is the worst of all; it's hollow, displaying emotion that never reaches his eyes no matter how he pulls it. He seems to be able to charm most everyone else with it, but Kanda couldn't accept it. The kid is dangerous, and he's determined to find out exactly how.

It doesn't help that the guy is inherently _annoying_. From what Kanda had seen, he always seems to be able to stick to people's good sides, especially when he wants to, but for some reason it was a different story with Kanda. It's like the brat actually wants him to beat the living shit out of him, to which he would happily comply if he wasn't being held back by consequences. If the other two are going to be bringing him along and making Kanda deal with it whenever he's in the general vicinity, then this was going to be a _long_ year.

Allen doesn't really have a problem with it either way, because he is practically an adult, he's on his own in the States, and one shitty teenager isn't going to have that big an impact. His life is hard enough as it is without the added stress of dealing with Kanda's apparent attitude problem. He isn't interested, and Kanda doesn't seem to be either.

Lavi, on the other hand, seems to be intent on learning literally everything there is to know about Allen and his entire life up to now. He's less than forthcoming with the information, given that there's little about his life that he is remotely willing to share with others, and while Lavi appears to accept his refusals ("Everybody has their secrets, I can understand that," he'd said), he also makes what could only be a threat, claiming that he would discover the finer points of Allen's life one way or another. He isn't the kind of guy that would resort to foul play, Allen thinks, but then again, most people think that about him, and his whole life is foul play.

Most of the questions are harmless, simple ones about his background and history and current status (which is poor and alone with nothing but a piano and a couple of boxes of Cross' belongings that he daren't go through), but eventually, no matter how much Lavi tries to make it subtle, the question Allen had been dreading rolls off his tongue; "What happened to your eye?"

He doesn't really have time to think of an excuse decent enough to satiate him, so he settles for simple distraction. "What happened to yours?" he quips back, barely breaking stride as he wonders what it would take for Lavi not to ask again.

He laughs, seeming out of place given Allen's current state of mind. "Tell you what, I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you what happened to mine if you do the same."

"Deal, as long as you go first."

"You drive a hard bargain! Mine's a funny story, really," he begins, and Allen knows he's in for a good one. He's already begun to recognise the look in his eye. "See, I was doing some training out in the Himalayas, endurance stuff and what have you, and one day while I was foraging these two bears attacked me, out of bloody nowhere! Great big grizzly things, these bears, they weigh a fucking _tonne_. Must have been mating season or something, because these two were obviously a couple and they smelled of sex and old fish, which I guess is about the same thing. So there I was, fighting off two full-grown bears with nothing but a knife, and boy was it a rough one. I managed to fend them off, but not before ol' Papa Bear took out my right eye with a well aimed_ wham!_" He swings his fist for extra effect, almost knocking a girl passing them in the hallway. "I got a glass one to fill the hole, but there's gnarly scarring, thus the patch."

By the end of it Allen is doubled over with laughter, Lavi standing proud as he tries to compose himself. "Alright," he gasps, "Ignoring the fact that your story is a load of complete _bollocks_, that is the worst story I've ever heard!" Lavi huffs at him, and he laughs again, patting the older man on the back. "Sorry mate, it's the truth. You're a great actor though, maybe you should get into drama."

At this Lavi perks up a little, even though he'd been in a good mood to start with. "I'm already taking drama, actually," he says with an air of superiority. "Pretty darn good, if I do say so myself. You should totally join me, it'd be rad acting with you."

"No, thank you," Allen replies, wondering what it would even be like performing for schools. "I'm already stuck with my electives, and I finished clowning around years ago." Not entirely, he thinks, but Lavi doesn't need to know that.

"It's not _clowning around_," he rebutts, "It's an art form. Does that mean you did it when you were younger?"

Allen's mind flashes back to a time before Cross, when things were much simpler, busking on the streets of London with Mana, sitting backstage or in the audience at some of his performances, playing around with his makeup to try out different styles. "Sort of," he replies, almost wistful. Lavi cocks an eyebrow, but doesn't ask further, and is thankfully distracted from any other train of thought when Lenalee arrives to escort Allen to class.

* * *

"I don't like him," Kanda states as Lavi sits down beside him, as simply as stating the weather.

Lavi's eye snaps up to him, surprised, then returns to his bag as he fishes around for his textbook. "Who?" he asks, pretending he didn't already have a strong idea.

"The new kid."

"What's wrong with Allen? Just because he struck a chord with you when you met him doesn't mean he's bad."

"It's not that," he says, and Lavi looks at him, genuinely curious. Kanda's expression is schooled into it's usual bored scowl, but he seems almost contemplative. "Surely you've noticed. Everything he does is fake, the way he moves and the way he talks and that creepy permanent smile. Makes me want to knock his teeth out."

Lavi would make a rebuttal on the topic, but Kanda's right. Allen has something he desperately wants to hide, and the fact that he doesn't know what nags constantly at Lavi's mind. "He's probably had a rough childhood," he offers, sorting out his own thoughts by bouncing them off Kanda. "From the way he always avoids talking about it, I'd assume some weird shit happened to him. He's probably just being cautious."

Kanda snorts, clicking his pen and beginning to scribble in notebook. Lavi takes that to be the end of the conversation, and he's almost glad; there is only so much mystery he can take in one day, and Allen certainly provides enough of that.


	3. Decadence and a Small Scare

"So, in going with that theory, to identify what the author was trying to convey we would need to follow–"

"Oh my God," Lenalee sighs quietly, leaning back to stare up at the roof. "We've been over this, like, a hundred and thirty-eight times, we _get it_."

Allen smiles, idly tapping his pen against the paper. "It is pretty monotonous, I must say," he agrees, looking down at his notes. "I learnt this when I was... thirteen, I think. It's pretty easy stuff."

"Allen, please do something interesting." He pauses, looking up at her with a curiously arched eyebrow. She rolls her eyes. "Come on, anything, I want this to end. If something interesting doesn't happen, I might die of boredom. For real."

"I'm not sure I can do anything about it, Lenalee, not without getting a detention that I really don't need. We've only got twenty minutes left, I'm sure you can hang out until then."

"But _Allen_," she insists, leaning across to grab his arm and give him a hopelessly pleading look. "It is so boring. So, so boring. I have never been this bored, and I will never be this bored again, mostly because I will be dead because it is that boring. I don't want to die of boredom, Allen, this classroom shall not be my coffin."

He laughs a little, keeping it quiet to avoid the attention of their teacher. "That's the spirit! Sort of. I don't think boredom can actually kill you, you know, that's kind of a weird idiom."

Lenalee is about to say something else when there's a knock at the door, making the teacher pause to answer it and catching the attention of most people in the room. A tall man with a mess of sandy hair and a jawline to kill for steps in, glancing around the room, and Allen wonders if he just imagined the gaze pausing briefly on him. "Sorry to interrupt, mate," he says, heavily accented, "But do you mind if I borrow Allen Walker for a tick?"

All heads in the room turn to Allen, who suddenly feels like he could just about catch on fire and disintegrate. The teacher gives him a weird glance, then huffs, gesturing for him to get up. "Might as well take your things, Walker," he tells him, so Allen quickly gathers his things while trying to focus on what this man could possibly want him for instead of the looks he's getting from other students. "Good luck," Lenalee whispers as he leaves, and he flicks her a wave on his way out.

The walk through the halls is silent for the first minute or so, but then the man who came to get him speaks up, nearly making Allen jump. "Sorry to pull you out like this, but the principal called for you, and apparently I'm her new errand boy."

"The principal?" Allen repeats, the familiar pang of fear hitting his gut at the notion of the one in charge of the whole school wanting to talk to him personally.

"Yeah, I don't really know the details, but she was pretty insistent. Oh!" He pauses, turning to hold his hand out to Allen. "I'm Reever, by the way. I work administration and other bits and pieces around here."

That would explain why Allen hasn't seen him around; Cross handled all the paperwork over the phone and by E-mail, and he already had what he needed by the time he got here. "Allen," he replies out of habit, then pauses. "But, um, I guess you already knew that."

Reever chuckles a little, continuing to walk. "Too right. You finding the school alright?"

He hadn't really thought about that. "I suppose. It's probably in the better half of schools I've been to, so I'm not complaining, really."

"Yeah, I know how that feels, moving between schools all the time. High school was a mess, let me tell you. Anyway, a few things before you see her; she might sound sort of harsh at first, but she's a real dame underneath. Don't get on her bad side though, or you'll never forget it."

Allen nods as they stop outside the office door, the plaque reading _Principal H. Leverrier_. Reever gives him a slight pat on the back, then knocks on the door, the voice of a woman inside telling them to enter. Allen swallows as Reever pushes the door open, then pauses, taken a little aback. The office is bare of anything that doesn't really need to be there, all the paperwork sorted neatly in files along the shelves, yet the room still feels somehow lived in. The principal herself is a sight; she's fairly old, maybe fifty or sixty, but she doesn't seem to look it at first glance, her posture and form that of someone much younger, her ash-grey hair loose and cascading around her in thick curls. "Ah, Mr. Walker," she says, voice gentle but somehow flat. "Thank you, Reever."

"No worries," Reever says, and then he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him and sealing Allen in this small room with a very intimidating woman. He's been up against some very scary people before, but she strikes him as scary in a whole new way. It's unnerving.

"Please, sit," she tells him, and he does, setting his bag down on the floor and perching in the chair across the desk from her. "I apologise for such a confrontation, but I do hope you'll co-operate with me here."

"Of course, miss," he says, not sure what else to say..

Her lips quirk up in what might almost be a smile, and then she diverts her attention to a stack of papers on her desk, beginning to flick through them. "Now, I understand you've only recently moved here, correct?"

"Yes, miss."

"Where were you before you came here?"

"India."

Something shifts briefly in her face. "Hm. Lovely place, India. Your enrolments were sorted out from there by your guardian, Mr. Cross Marian?"

It doesn't seem right hearing his name said like that, but Allen ignores it. "Yes. Mostly by E-mail, I was told."

"Indeed. Now, what I would like to ask you about is your relationship with your guardian. He is not your birth father, am I correct?"

Oh, dear. Conversations that start like this always end badly, in his experience. "No, miss. He adopted me three years ago."

"After your father passed?"

"Pardon me, but which father?"

She blinks, flicking through her papers to try and find the record she needs. "Mana Walker was your father, was he not?"

"Yes, for all intents and purposes. I'm sorry for making things confusing, I've just been asked these questions a lot, and Mana wasn't my birth father either, you see."

She frowns, jotting something down on a notepad. "My apologies, I wasn't aware of this. Do you have any records of Mana's adoption?"

Allen bites his lip, thinking on how best to respond to that. He doesn't, because Mana either never kept any or lost them at some point. He'd been through these questions countless times now, nearly every time he moved, and he sincerely wishes that he could actually get a hold on these kinds of things. "My apologies, but I don't have any. If it's any consolation, I don't know anything about my birth parents, either. What you've been able to find is about all there is, honestly."

She gives a thoughtful hum, and Allen honestly wishes he had something more to give her. He always feels wrong in these situations, like it's his fault for not having any readily available information. "Well, I suppose that's all there is to it, then. Marian made you travel often?"

"All the time, miss." _And a bloody nuisance it is_.

Her lips quirk up in a smile as she sets the papers aside, like there's some inside joke he's missing. "How is he doing these days? Has his liver given up on him yet?"

Allen allows himself a smile. "No, but I'm hoping his lungs do. Do you know him?"

"Oh, yes. We're old friends, incidentally, from back when he actually had a stable job." Allen could never imagine Cross with a stable job; it was like imagining him without countless terrible habits and a spending problem. "Do give him my regards next you see him, it's been a long time."

If Allen ever sees him again. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled," he says, and she smiles at him.

By the time he leaves her office he's still got ten minutes to spare, and while he would enjoy Lenalee's company, he'd rather not return to class for such a short period. He decides to wander the grounds, taking the time to get himself oriented with the place, especially since he isn't sure how long he'll be here. Cross has made no sign of showing up ever again, and if he ever does it will probably only be to demand money. Allen's bank account has been rather cross with him these last few years.

Allen catches the sight of smoke wafting up from beneath one of the windows at the end of one of the hallways, and he pauses, wondering if he's actually hoping the school is on fire. There's not nearly enough smoke for that though, he realises unfortunately, but it does make him rather curious, so he pulls open the window and stick his head out to investigate just as someone jumps to their feet and collides rather harshly with his jaw.

"Ow! Bloody hell," Allen curses involuntarily, while his assailant prattles off a string of words that would make Allen blush had he not been hearing worse on a regular basis. He blinks his eyes clear of the water that welled up in them and tries to identify whoever just very nearly broke his teeth, feeling a little more upset about it when he realises who it is. "_Kanda_? What are you doing out here?"

Kanda scoffs, placing a cigarette in his mouth to fix his hair before he slumps back down, sitting with his back against the wall beneath the window as he must have been doing before. "Fuck off," he mutters, breathing out and giving Allen a face full of second-hand smoke.

"Hang on," he says, taking a deep breath after the initial attack of_ oh no there is smoke in my lungs_. "That's not cigarette smoke, it's... different." Kanda leans his head back to look up at him, and it's then that Allen notices the slight irritation in his eyes. "Oh lord, you're smoking marijuana."

"Not so loud, fucknuts. You want a hit?"

"God no!"

He shrugs. "Your loss. Shouldn't you be in class or something?"

"Shouldn't you?"

"Whatever." There's a brief pause, Kanda staring out over the courtyard and takes another hit while Allen tries very hard not to breathe it in from his vantage point directly above him. "Are you going to hover over me like that or sit the fuck down?" Kanda asks suddenly, and Allen wonders if that was some vague invitation to join him.

He takes it, Kanda shifting over a little as he climbs out the window to land on the cement beneath it, sliding the window shut behind him as an afterthought, sitting down what he deems to be a safe distance away. Kanda draws another deep breath, watching the smoke curl languidly through the air as he exhales. It's oddly pretty, Allen thinks; he's always been too busy being annoyed at the constant presence of smoke to really admire the way it moves, curling and dissipating like a translucent grey dance. Kanda is silent, as he always is, and Allen wonders if there's something he should be saying, if there's some way to break the ice. If there is, he can't find it.

Kanda eventually butts out the joint, rubbing it into the pavement and leaning his head back against the wall, staring out seemingly at nothing. Allen absently wonders what it's like being high, then remembers he has somewhere he should probably be, checking his watch. "Oh," he breathes, and Kanda glances over at him as he stands up. "Sorry, I have a class I need to get to. Try not to bunk too many of yours, alright?"

He scoffs, shifting to what appears to be a more comfortable position. "Don't tell me what to do, brat," he mutters, and Allen smiles.

* * *

**A/N:** I know this story has been kind of slow to get off the ground, but I swear stuff is going to actually start happening soon.


	4. The Girl with the Pumpkin Umbrella

**A/N:** Ayy stuff is actually going to start happening, and while I feel I rather dislike how this fic is turning out, I'm going to keep posting it anyway. Trigger warning for knives and torture and stuff, since doesn't appear to have an option for extra fic tags.

* * *

Allen says goodbye to Lavi as they walk out onto the school grounds, waving to him as he and Lenalee make their way down the street on the walk home. It was something of a pleasant surprise when they found they lived within walking distance of each other, so Lenalee always insists on walking him at least some of the way home, since he lives a little further away than she does. She begins to have a heated discussion with him on how their English assignments keep getting ("Seriously, what the heck? It's like they _want_ me to fail."), talking very animatedly until she pauses, catching Allen's attention. "Is she alright?" she asks quietly, and he follows her gaze to where a girl of maybe thirteen or fourteen is pacing up and down the street, holding one of the weirdest umbrellas Allen had ever seen, pale purple with what looks like a small pumpkin at the tip.

"I don't know," he replies, but before either of them can say anything else the girl spots them, walking up to them with a bouncy gait.

"Excuse me," she says, stopping just in front of Allen. "I'm a little lost. Do you know how to get to Highwater Road?"

He thinks about that for a moment, being fairly new to the neighbourhood himself, then remembers that he's been down that way a couple of time before. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do. It's not far, would you like me to walk you there?"

The girl smiles, tapping her umbrella against her shin. "That'd be great!" she exclaims, and Allen smiles back at her.

Lenalee tugs at his sleeve, and he turns, confused as she gestures for him to step away to talk to him in private. He asks the girl to wait and lets Lenalee lead him away, out of earshot of her. "Allen, you should be careful," she says quietly, still keeping her voice low despite the distance. "She gives me a weird vibe, and you know you hear lots of stories about kids leading people on."

He almost scoffs at the idea, but she seems genuinely worried, which as much a warning light to him as anything. "It's alright, Lenalee," he tells her, gently patting her shoulder. "I'll be careful. I've handled a wrestler before, I think I can take a fourteen-year-old girl." She frowns, but lets him go, giving him a final warning before telling him she'd see him tomorrow, and he returns to the girl, beginning to walk with her. "I'm Allen, by the way."

She grins, swinging her umbrella as she walks, swinging her legs high with each step. "Allen, huh?" she hums, almost thoughtfully. "I'm Road. Do you live around here?"

"Somewhat," he replies, heeding Lenalee's words and being vague about it. "It's within walking distance, at least."

"Ahh. I don't know the neighbourhood that well, you see. I only moved here a little while ago. Candy?" she asks, fishing around in her little satchel to pull out two pieces of wrapped candy, taking one and holding the other out for him.

"Oh, thank you," he says, taking it and popping it in his mouth, and she smiles, humming as she chews and plays with the wrapper, folding it up. He watches her as they walk, her slender hands folding the wrapper into the shape of a bird, which she then gives to Allen with a grin. The walk is silent, mostly, Road continuing to hum a song he's never heard and Allen staying silent for lack of anything to say. He might have been better at making conversation, if he hadn't just begun to develop a nasty headache. It's not exactly warm, but there is the chance that he's terribly dehydrated.

"Oh!" Road says suddenly, and Allen snaps back to attention, following her eyes to see a black sedan pulling into a driveway a little ways down the street. "That must be my butler. That's my house, just there."

"Thank God," Allen mutters, then realises he'd just said that out loud. "I mean, that we got here okay. I wasn't entirely sure myself, to be honest."

"It's okay! Thank you for walking me," she says, pouncing on him with a hug, and he almost trips with the force of it. He gives her an awkward hug back, then she pulls away, giving him a thoughtful look. "Are you alright, Allen? You look kind of sick."

He most definitely isn't alright, but he isn't going to bother her with it. "I'm fine, thank you," he assures her, somehow still sounding sure enough of himself while the world lurches dangerously.

Then Road laughs, the sound grating in his ears. "Man, you sure take your time passing out," she chides between giggles, and it hits him almost as hard as the drowsiness.

"Wait a minute," he says, reluctantly sinking down to his knees. His mind plays over the last half an hour, trying to find out exactly what she did. Seeing her once he left the school, walking with her. _The candy_, he thinks. "Did you _drug _me?"

She crouches down in front of him, that strange umbrella slung over he shoulder, and she smiles at him, seemingly childish and innocent on her young face, but to Allen it feels entirely unpleasant. "Good night, Allen," she sings, and the last thing he hears is her berating laugh ringing in his head.

* * *

When Allen comes to the first thing he notices is the heavy pain in his arms, like he'd been using them for too long. He opens his eyes to find himself in a dim room, lit by candles along the walls and casting flickering shadows over the tacky purple wallpaper. He tries to shift, to assuage some of the stiffness in his limbs, but then he realises why his arms feel so heavy; he's chained up, sitting on the floor with his arms cuffed and held outstretched either side of him with short chains from clamps in the wall. He swallows his panic and tries to assess the situation. The last he remembers is passing out in front of Road, so he assumes that she or whoever she works for has taken him somewhere, chained him up for some reason or other. He absently thinks that he really should have taken Lenalee's warning closer to heart.

He has a little while to stew and try to formulate some method of escape (after investigation of how well-made the cuffs are, he discovers it isn't possible in his current situation) before the door on the other side of the room opens, the space outside just as dark as someone steps in, closing the door behind them again. "Oh, you're awake?" a girl says, and he recognises that tone as Road's.

"Why are you doing this?" Allen asks, keeping his voice level.

She giggles, walking up to crouch just in front of him, the stick of a lollipop hanging from her mouth and Allen's jacket hanging around her shoulders. So that's where it went. "Fun," she says simply, her lips pulling back in a toothy grin. "Mostly, at least. I didn't just pick you at random, you know."

"Pick me for what?_ Why_ me?"

She sighs, sitting back on her haunches. "Oh, Allen," he breathes, and his name suddenly sounds so weird on her lips. "If only I could tell you. Let's just say we're going to play a little game, hm?" She takes the lollipop out, pointing it at him. "You're going to tell me all you know about the Campbells, or I'm going to have a little play with your body. How's that?"

That sounds gross and unpleasant and entirely wrong. "The Campbells?" he asks instead of voicing his objections, because he's seen the look in her eyes before and he knows she's serious. "I don't know any Campbells."

"Wrong answer!" she sings, standing up and stepping closer to him. He cringes away from her, but he can't get very far, so he's stuck watching as she takes his jacket off, discarding it to the side and pulling something from inside her sleeve. He catches a flash of silver and a distinct clicking noise, and then his arm burns, Road slowly cutting a deep incision in the flesh of his forearm. He bites down on his lip to stop himself from making any sound, from giving way. She chuckles a little, stepping back to look at him again. "Now, let's try this again, shall we? I'm sure you know the Campbells, or else the Earl wouldn't have found your name."

"I don't know what you're talking ab–" He cuts off as she punches him, right on his cheekbone and making his eye sting. That's going to bruise. "I'm serious! I don't know anything about Campbells or the Earl or whatever it is you're on about."

There's a _crunch_ as she bites her lollipop, taking the now bare stick out and tossing it aside as she chews, flipping the butterfly knife around in her hand. "You know, I think I kind of like you, Allen," she says, which he finds hard to believe given the current situation. "Honestly, I'm not sure you know them either, but the Earl was quite adamant that you must know _something_."

He takes a deep breath, glancing over at his arm to see dark liquid staining his shirt around the cut. He liked this shirt, too. "I'm sorry, Road," he tries again, attempting to reconcile with her. "I really don't. Who is the Earl, why does he insist I know something?"

"He's in charge of us Noah," she says simply, as if that explains everything.

"Noah?" Allen repeats, wondering if he's heard it before. He can't remember anything even vaguely, so he figures he hasn't.

She trails a hand along his left arm, her smile broadening as her fingers brush over the fabric. "I really like this arm of yours," she says, ignoring his query. He grimaces as she pulls his sleeve up, revealing the mottled red flesh beneath. "I wonder what happened to it? And your eye. It's such a pretty scar, it makes me wish I was the one who put it there."

"Are you quite sane?" Allen mutters, before he realises that it's probably not a smart thing to say. He's right; she grins, flips her knife, and makes another cut, slow and long and agonising. He's had worse, though, he tells himself. He can take it.

"I bet you hate me right now, don't you?" she asks, tapping the flat of the blade against his arm. "It's a shame, really. If circumstances were different, I'm sure you and I would have gotten along famously. As it is, I'm having a lot of fun here, I don't know about you."

"You have a weird idea of fun."

She lashes a hand out, slapping him in the face with the back of her hand, making him cry out as his nose snaps out of place, then she spits out laughter. "Whoops! Here, let me fix that for you." She puts the knife down out of his reach and moves to straddle his lap, holding his head still with one hand and snapping his nose back into place with the other. He tastes blood, feels it on his face, watches as she rubs it off with her hand, bringing her fingers to her mouth to lick the liquid off of them. "Mm, your blood is quite nice."

"Road," he begins carefully, swallowing the blood in his throat. "Why are you _really_ doing this?"

She looks almost offended. "Didn't I tell you? For fun." She grabs the blade again, and he cringes instinctively, moving his head away as she runs it down his throat, gentle enough that it doesn't break the skin. "Now, are you _sure_ you don't know anything?"

It occurs to Allen that this could be something Cross was involved in. It wouldn't be the first time he's borne the brunt of one of his guardian's mistakes, roped into some weird underground cult simply because Cross was an elusive tool with a habit of getting into trouble. If he asked her about it, though, she might take it as him conceding that he knows something, which he doesn't, so it's better for him to just stay quiet. "I'm sure," he says, and she sighs, even though a smile stretches almost inhumanly wide across her face.

"Well then," she coos, "This game just got a lot more interesting." And she jams the blade into his thigh.

He isn't sure how much time passes, but locked in this little room with Road practically carving up his flesh, it feels like an age, every nick and bruise and open wound a bright light of pain in the dimness of his mind around the echoes of her voice, everpresent and disgusting. He says nothing, only screams, and the only things she says are gentle taunts or his name murmured in his ear, _oh, Allen_. She only stops when somebody else comes in, Allen very dimly aware of a voice that isn't hers telling her to stop. She sighs, wipes the knife off on his shirt before folding it up and slipping it back into her sleeve, places her lips gently to his cheek in an odd show of tenderness, and then she walks away, her footsteps resounding in his ears. He thinks, for a moment, that he has been left alone, but then somebody different crouches down in front of him, places something around his mouth. He tries to protest, but he's breathing something in, his mind hazy from the pain and whatever they just made him inhale. The darkness of sleep is welcome, after such a long time of burning.

* * *

It's cold when he wakes up, the air sharp in his lungs. He's outside, he realises, opening his eyes and met with vast grey sky. It's barely dawn, dew still fresh in the grass, and he shudders, sucking in a breath. His whole body hurts, some places much sharper pain than others, making him grit his teeth as he pushes himself to sit up. Memories of what happened come flooding back with his consciousness, the dark cell and the girl laughing at him as she picked at his flesh. It feels so surreal, like a bad dream; he probably wouldn't believe it ever happened if not for the painful reminders of it.

He should probably get home, he thinks, wondering how he even ended up here. They must have dumped him here once they were done with him, for some reason. He woke up on the bench at a bus stop, one he doesn't recognise, but it makes it easier to find where he is, considering most of the stops are numbered. He stands up, slowly and carefully, his left arm throbbing particularly bad as he hobbles over to the signpost to read it, then pulls out his phone, thankfully still in his pocket, pausing when he unlocks it. He has eight missed calls and twenty-three unread messages, mostly, it seems, from Lenalee. Trust her to be worried about him. He ignores them for now, looking up the stop and finding that it's only a couple of streets away from his house. He can walk it that far.

It's takes longer than it feels like to get back home, Allen heaving a huge sigh of relief when his house comes into view. It is far too cold and he is in far too much pain for him to be out any longer, so his heart lifts joyously when he finds his keys in his jacket pocket (Road had thankfully given it back to him, all of his possessions apparently still there, including the small crane she made from the wrapper) and stepping inside. His first order of business is assessing the damage, so he heads down to the bathroom, shedding his coat to reveal his torn and blood-stained shirt, more red-brown than the white it used to be. He's just going to have to throw the shirt out, so he tenderly unbuttons it and slips it off, gritting his teeth as the motions irritate the numerous scars along his arms and torso. He's a wreck, he thinks, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror; his whole upper body is scarred and bruised, red and purple mottling across white skin. His face thankfully didn't get too much damage, just a broken nose and a bruise beneath his eye. The rest he could hide.

He figures it's easier to just shower rather than clean every wound individually, especially since some are in places he can't reach, so he grabs a quick drink to quench his thirst (his throat is hoarse, mostly, he thinks, from all the screaming he must have done) then undresses completely, steeling himself and stepping in the shower. It's probably one of the worst ideas he's ever had, the warm water making every individual cut sting all over again, but it cleans them out and leaves him feeling a little more refreshed despite it all. He doesn't bother bandaging most of them; only the first few she made are deep enough to warrant further attention, the rest just small cuts and bruises from where she thought it would be fun to use her bare hands.

By the time he's done it's late enough in the morning that Lenalee should be awake, and he feels like he should at least let her know he's alright after so many missed messages last night. He flicks through some of the ones she sent to get up to speed, most of them just asking why he wasn't answering and if he was okay and that she was really worried. He takes a deep breath, taps out a quick message explaining that he's fine and he was just busy last night and he's sorry for not replying, then anxiously waits for a reply as he sets about making something to eat.

It barely takes her five minutes to call him, his phone vibrating obnoxiously on the bench with her name across the screen. Hesitantly, he picks it up and answers. "Hey, Lena-"

"_Don't you 'hey' me, young man!_" she barks, and he resigns himself to a long conversation. "_What the hell? I mean, what the __**hell**__? You can't just disappear like that all night and then say 'oh yeah, sorry, I was doing some other stuff' and expect me to A, believe that, or B, not be mad as all heck. Do you know how worried I was? I would tell you, but words wouldn't be able to describe it. Tell me what happened, and tell me the truth._"

"Lenalee, really, I-"

"_**Now**__._"

He sighs. He loves Lenalee dearly, but she can be a little overbearing at times. "Well, I guess I owe you an apology."

"_Damn straight!_"

"It turns out that Road -that girl I showed home yesterday- is actually a psychopath. Honestly, who saw it coming." He pauses, thinks about it. "I guess you did, huh."

"_Oh my God, what did she do to you, are you okay?_"

"I'm fine, mostly. She just gave me a little present to remember her by and drugged me a couple of times. I'm really okay, so there's nothing to worry about."

"_I swear, Allen, you're the biggest trouble-maker I've ever met. Have you called the police?_"

His stomach lurches. "What?" he says stupidly, the notion instilling an inkling of fear in him.

"_The police. You know, those guys whose job it is to stop stuff like this happening. Seriously, you didn't think to call them?_"

"Uh, no. Lenalee, look, I made a mistake, it's not anybody else's problem. It seems like she was specifically targeting me anyway, so nobody needs to call them."

She's silent for a moment, nothing but little jumps of static coming through the line as it always does. "_Fine,_" she says eventually, with a tone of voice that tells him it bloody well is _not_, but he'll take what he can get. "_Just, be careful, alright? Learn from your mistake. I'll see you later today, yeah?_"

He flexes a hand experimentally, frowning. "Yeah, I'm sorry, but probably not until tomorrow. I'm a little worn out from this whole ordeal, you know?"

"_I'm coming over tonight with flowers, no questions, gotta go bye love you!_"

She hangs up, and Allen is again left alone with his thoughts and an impending visit over his head. He hopes Cross never finds out about this, because he would probably actually die if he did. At least the man would show up for once, theoretically. He glances over to the piano that sits in the corner of the living room, gleaming gold and pale glossed wood, and he sighs. "I want to go back to England," he mutters, and shoves his breakfast in his face.

* * *

"Holy shit, what happened to your face?"

"Hi, Lavi," Allen sighs, stepping out of the doorway to let them both in. He doesn't think he looks that bad, considering -the bruising had gone down a lot since that morning- but to them it's still probably extremely noticeable. Lenalee doesn't enter the house when Lavi does, staring at him from the doorstep, and he looks back at her, confused. "Um. Would you like to come in, or...?"

She blinks back a few tears, trying her best to look angry but not quite achieving it. "You're an idiot, Allen," she says, then throws herself at him, bouquet of flowers clasped in her hand as she wraps her arms around him.

He pats her back kind of awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. "I'm sorry, Lenalee," he replies gently, then pulls back from her to look her in the face. "I bought chocolates, if that makes you feel better."

She sniffles a little, smiling at him. "It doesn't, and I'm still mad at you, but you better tell me where those chocolates are," she demands, then storms past him into the house. Lavi watches her pass into the living room from where he'd stopped just inside the door, and Allen meets his eyes, the two of them sharing a shrug. _Girls_, he mouths, rolling his eyes, and Allen has to suppress a little grin.


	5. They Begin to Whisper

The phone rings, vibrating obnoxiously where Allen had left it on the table, and he rushes to pick it up, turning the heat down on the stove so his food doesn't burn while he's gone. He grabs it, sees Lenalee's name, and wonders why she'd be calling him on a Saturday morning. "Allen Walker," he says instinctively when he answers, going back over to man the stove.

"_Good morning!_" she beams through the receiver, bright and cheery. "_Did I wake you?_"

He looks at the clock above the fridge, then remembers it doesn't work any more and has to guess. "Lenalee, it's nearly ten in the morning, of course you didn't wake me." Honestly he's been awake since about four-thirty, but she didn't need to know that.

"_Good, good, excellent. Are you doing anything today? Any plans, hot dates?_"

"Um, no?"

"_Great! Do you want to come over to my place? Lavi and Kanda are coming over at noon-ish, because Grouchy McFartface and I need to study and Lavi is super smart so he's helping us out._"

That's... something of a pleasant surprise, to be honest, and Allen isn't sure how to respond. He's never been invited to a study session before, especially not with his new group of friends (he still finds it weird that he even has any, really). It could be interesting. "Yeah, sure," he replies, flipping his pancakes over with his spare hand. "Do you want me to bring anything? Any specific subjects?"

"_Um, snacks maybe? I mean, we have a bunch, and I think Lavi's bringing some, but you can bring some if you want. I only need to work on my science and algebra stuff, but I dunno about Kanda, so just bring all of them._"

"Sure thing. You said noon?"

"_Yep! See you there, Al_." She hangs up, and Allen sets an alarm for eleven-thirty (since he's bound to lose track of time one way or another) and finishes off cooking the last of his pancakes. He gathers his schoolbooks between mouthfuls of brunch and shoves them all in his bag, wondering if he has anything in the house worth bringing and decided he'll just stop by the corner store on the way there for something snack-able. He's nervous, strangely, but he generally is whenever any of them invite him out somewhere. He enjoys their outings to the mall and coffee shops and the like, and he's been to Lenalee's a few times before, so he tells himself it will be fine.

He picks up some biscuits and a packet of gummy candies (he avoids the wrapped ones, it's too soon after Road) on his walk to Lenalee's and shows up just after twelve, Lavi's unmistakeable Beetle sitting in the driveway. He knocks, and there's a brief commotion inside before Lenalee answers the door. "Allen!" she exclaims, giving him a brief hug before dragging him inside. "Please save me, Lavi is actually a terrible teacher."

"Only because you're so bad at math," Lavi responds from his place at the kitchen table, Kanda sitting with an annoyed expression next to him and textbooks spread out over the table.

"Am not! You just make it really hard to understand," she barks back, sticking her tongue out at him, and he gives her an exasperated eye roll.

Kanda looks up, glaring straight at Allen. "Oi, what the hell is the kid doing here?" he asks, and then it's Allen's turn to roll his eyes.

"Good to see you too, Kanda," he mutters, then turns his attention to Lenalee. "I brought snacks, if you want them."

"Oh, lovely! That's perfect, actually, because it turns out that my brother ate most of ours the other day without telling me. I hate you for that, by the way!" She yells the last part, directing it at Komui, who is somewhere else in the house.

"I said I was sorry!" he yells back, and she just shakes her head.

"I hope you're good at algebra," she says, taking the plastic bag of food from him and placing it on the kitchen bench, "Because otherwise we are going to get nowhere."

As it turns out, Lavi is an excellent teacher, and the other two really _are_ just bad at algebra. Lenalee is good at pretty much everything else, math just seems to be her weak point, and Kanda just seems to refuse to want to actually learn anything. Allen takes to mostly keeping silent as he works through his homework and listening to them banter, back and forth about which formula to use and why the calculations don't check out. It doesn't take long before they decide to stop for lunch, Lenalee complaining that she needs a break and Kanda wholeheartedly agreeing. She gets up and offers to make everyone coffee, Lavi sighing and pulling out a newspaper to occupy himself with in the meantime. Allen always thought it was weird that he reads them every day, but he supposes that's just his thing. It can't hurt to be up to date.

"Do you have any tea?" Allen asks when she directs the coffee question at him, looking up from where he'd been doodling in the back of his book.

"That depends," she says, "Do you mean English tea or real tea?"

"English tea_ is_ real tea. But yes, I do mean English." Kanda rolls his eyes at him, and Allen makes a face in return, while Lenalee scoffs and rummages around to see if she has any teabags.

Lavi mutters something under his breath, catching Allen's attention, and he looks over to see Lavi frowning at the newspaper; the expression on his face makes Allen's gut churn. "Komui," he says cautiously, standing up, and has now caught the attention of the other two as Komui walks in to see why he's needed. The atmosphere tips him off, giving a confused and worried look around the room as Lavi looks from the paper to him. "You knew a guy named Kevin Yeegar, right?"

Komui pales, and Allen knows that something is suddenly very wrong here. "He works in the division above me," he replies absently. Lavi silently holds the paper out to him, and Komui takes it, his expression deepening as he reads. "Excuse me, I need to make a call," he says abruptly, handing the paper back and stepping out of the room, leaving everybody else to wonder what the heck is going on.

Lavi sits back down at the table, putting the paper down in front of him with a concerned look on his face. Allen takes this opportunity to read it, taking it and looking for what suddenly has everyone so on edge. _Eighty-nine year old man assaulted and dies of shock_, the headline reads, and he skims the article; Kevin Yeegar, found chained to a tree in the middle of a park early one morning after apparent torture, dying in the hospital three hours later. "Was this someone you knew?" he asks Lavi, who nervously runs a hand through his mess of red hair.

"Not really," he says quietly, thoughtful. "I knew_ of_ him, but I never met him. My grandfather worked with him occasionally."

Allen makes a small '_oh_' sound, setting the paper back down, and Kanda and Lenalee take turns reading it. It seems neither of them know what's going on either, but then Lenalee gasps, covering her mouth. "I met him at one of Komui's work parties once," she whispers, sitting back down at the table. "He was really nice."

Nobody is really sure what to say to that, so a moment passes in silence before Komui returns, oddly serious compared to his usual upbeat demeanour. "Kanda, do you know where Tiedoll is?" he asks, and Allen feels out of the loop.

Kanda thinks about it, tapping a finger against the table. "Last I heard he was on a business trip in Beijing," he tells him, seeming unsure. "I haven't gotten any phone-calls recently, so I'd assume he's still there."

"Great, I need you to get in touch with him as soon as you can, or get one of your brothers to do so."

He blinks, confused. "Why? What do I tell him?"

Komui opens his mouth, pauses, closes it again. "Tell him..." he begins, trailing off. "Tell him that the Noah are back, and that he's in danger."

Lavi's eye narrows, showing that he doesn't understand or that there's something he's missing. Something familiar nags at Allen's mind. Kanda is just confused and a little angry. "Noah?" he repeats, dubious. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He bites his lip, leaning slightly against the door frame. "I'm not at liberty to say," he says eventually, after ruminating over it, and Kanda begins to puff up before Allen interrupts him.

"Road!" he suddenly exclaims, putting his finger on it, and they all turn to him, surprised. He clears his throat. "Sorry, I just– Road mentioned Noah, I'm pretty sure. Something about an Earl?"

"_The_ Earl?" Komui asks, and Allen nods. He mutters something under his breath, and Allen wonders whether or not his encounter with Road was as unimportant as he tries to tell himself it is. "I need you to get in contact with Cross, if you can. Tell him the same thing."

Allen can't help but scoff. "If I could get in contact with him just like that, my life would be a whole lot easier. I'll try, but there's no guarantees I'll get through to him."

"It's worth a shot," he insists, so Allen agrees, wondering why he feels so nervous about it all. He hopes to God that he or Cross aren't involved in this.

* * *

Allen leans back on the couch, tapping his foot against the floor as he waits, listening to the phone ring in his ear. And ring. And ring out, the automated message he's come to hate repeating itself in his ear again. '_The person you are calling is_–'

"Unavailable, I know," he mutters, hanging up. He sighs, running his hand through his hair, over his scar. He decides to try once more, having already called all three of the numbers he has for Cross more than twelve times in the past two and a half hours. He dials, holds the phone to his ear, and waits until the robotic voice drills into his ear again and he cries out a frustrated exclamation. "Dammit old man, pick up your bloody phone!" he yells at the ceiling, as if in prayer to the God of Douchebaggery himself. _I am going to murder him if I ever see him again_, he tells himself, then gets up, shoving his phone in his pocket. He needs something to calm himself down with, to take his mind off of this whole Noah business. What kind of name even is that, 'Noah'? A dumb one, in his opinion.

His wanders around the house for a while, finding nothing to do and eventually slumping down at his piano, running his gloved hand over the fallboard. "Help me out here, Tim," he says, and, as usual, gets no response. "Everyone's suddenly so upset over all this, and I don't even understand it. Some girl tortured me over it, Lenalee nearly cried several times, Lavi's concerned, Komui's... scared. Heck, even Kanda is getting involved, though still against his will. I just want to know what's going on."

Silence stretches through the room, and he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath, counts the seconds between, then opens the fallboard, met with the familiar sight of gleaming white and polished gold. "Do you remember that park we found when we were in Nottingham, Timcanpy? Mana was working, so we decided to explore. It was really quite pretty, and we even made friends with that flock of ducks. Take me back there, Tim."

Allen flexes his fingers over the keys, and begins to play.

* * *

**A/N:** Something of a short one, but the next chapter is turning out quite long to make up for it, and important stuff happens between Allen and Kanda which I'm looking forward to. uw~


	6. An Omen and a Truce

There he is. The man he's been waiting for finally steps out of the bar, waving goodbye to somebody inside as he turns and begins to walk down the street. Tyki smiles and butts out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe, pushing himself away from his car to match the man's stride across the street, keeping a close eye on him. Once they get far enough away from the bar, he crosses, timing it so that the moment he hits the pavement on the other side he grabs the man by his shirt and drags him into the alley behind him, ignoring the surprised cry of protest. He's not as strong as Tyki had thought he would be, easy enough to drag along and push down to the ground once they're out of view of the street.

"What the bloody eff, mate?" he cries, standing up and dusting himself off. He has a horrible voice, Tyki thinks. He's going to try and make this quick. "What the hell do you want?"

"Are you Daisya Barry?" Tyki asks, sticking his hands in his pockets with a small grin. He knows the answer already (he's been researching for several weeks now, and that hideous hat is unmistakeable), but he feels like asking is the right thing to do.

Daisya looks confused and a little worried. As he should be. "Yeah, now who's askin'?"

"A family friend, you might say. Where is Froi Tiedoll?"

He scoffs, nearly breaking into laughter. "You're after the old man, really? What did he do, sell you a paintin' with a tea stain on it or someth'?"

Tyki smiles, absently fingering the release on his weapon. "If only it were so quaint. No, I simply owe him something for a favour he did my family a few years ago. A simple transaction, really, if there aren't any sudden hindrances."

He scoffs, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I take it you must be one of those Noah folk I've been hearin' so much about. Sorry to break it to ya, buddy, but he ain't in town. I dunno when he's coming back, neither, but considering a shady guy like you is after him, I'm gonna guess never."

So the word has gotten out about them. Good. "That's a shame. And I was so looking forward to seeing him again. Oh well," Tyki says listlessly, shrugging. "One more question; do you know an Allen Walker?"

He blinks. "Aaron who?"

Tyki has to refrain from rolling his eyes. "Allen Walker. Young fellow, white hair, kind of stands out."

He mulls it over for a bit, humming in thought, and then he smacks his lips. "Nope, can't say I've heard of 'im. Are we done?"

And now he grins, feeling the anticipation rise in his chest. "Oh, yes," he hums, "We're done." He pulls his hand out of his pocket, flicks the release, revelling in the sound of the blades sliding from their casings to protrude out around his hand, three points of polished metal.

Daisya smiles, a little forcefully with the fear Tyki can see in his eyes. "I thought so," he murmurs, and pulls his own hands free of his jeans, flicking a switchblade open in his hand.

Tyki gives an appreciative whistle. "That's a nice little blade you have there," he says, shifting on his feet into a better striking position.

"Isn't it? Can't say I fancy your thing, though, looks like a right hassle."

Tyki laughs, then springs forward, planning to jump for the kill right there, but Daisya ducks out of the way, landing a punch on Tyki's jaw as he stands back up. So the guy has some real fight in him after all. He jumps to the side as Daisya swings, landing a kick as he leaps around and knocking him off balance, giving him just enough time to trip him up and send him down. Daisya rolls out of the way as Tyki moves to pin him down, getting in a well-aimed punch to the gut, and Tyki coughs, stepping back to regain his composure. "I have to say, you're not bad," he chides, readjusting the blades around his arm.

Daisya laughs, seemingly having a little fun with this himself. "Yeah, I dunno, you're pretty good yourself. I was hopin' for a fair fight."

Tyki smiles, then leaps, catching him off guard, and he finally knocks the man back against the wall, pinning him there. Daisya's face fills with fear as Tyki holds his blades over his chest, the three points encircling his heart. "I'm terribly sorry," he says, "But I am _leagues_ ahead of you." And he jams the blades in Daisya's chest.

* * *

"Have either of you heard from Kanda?"

They both look up as Lenalee stops by their table, a little surprised by the question. Lavi then looks over at Allen, who shrugs a little. "Nope, not a word," he says, turning back to Lenalee.

She sighs, slumping to sit down next to Allen. "Have either of you actually _tried_ talking to him? You know he never starts conversations."

Lavi mulls it over, tapping his knuckle against his chin. "Well, I sent him a message when he didn't show up yesterday, but I got nothing back. Al?"

"I haven't sent him anything," he says, pulling a face as though the very notion of speaking with Kanda puts a bad taste in his mouth. "Is he not here again today?"

"No," she whines, pulling out her phone. "He could at least tell me if he's okay, geez!"

"You seem to worry about people a lot," Allen muses, remembering the vast amount of messages he'd gotten from her when he disappeared for just one night.

She shoots a glare at him. "Of course I do, Allen. None of you seem to worry about yourselves, so _somebody_ has to."

"You can't stop Mama Lenalee," Lavi says proudly, beaming at her, and she reaches across the table to pat him lovingly on the head. "I'm sure he's got good reason, he usually does."

"He better have, because he hasn't been here since Tuesday and he is getting a butt whooping next time I see him. More importantly, Allen, do you know what's going to be on our English test? Because I really want to study more before we take it."

They move on to revising over the remainder of their lunch break, working through their combined notes with Lavi leaving helpful tips in between, but Allen can't help wondering about Kanda. Even in the short time he's know him, he's never heard of Kanda taking even one day off, let alone three in a row without a single word. It nearly worries him, too.

By the end of the day Kanda's absence had mostly slipped his mind, replaced with post-school exhaustion and the heavy task of an assignment he needs to get started on. He settles in to work on it once he gets home, placing himself in front of his laptop with his workbooks and a bag of chips. He works solidly for nearly an hour when his phone buzzes on the table next to him, catching his attention. He considers ignoring it, while he's actually focused on work, but he figures it would be good to at least check its importance first, so he reaches over to grab the phone and open the message.

It's a text from Kanda, with nothing but a time, an address, and a simple message; _Dress formal_. There's no explanation, no 'sorry I disappeared for three days', nothing, and the only thing keeping Allen from being mad about it is the intense curiosity and the uneasy feeling in his gut. He punches the address into a search engine and finds that it isn't far from him, but far enough he'll need to take the bus, so he looks up timetables and makes a quick note of which ones he needs to catch, which he leaves on the table closest to the front door as a reminder.

It eats at him for the remainder of the night, wondering where Kanda has been, why he hasn't said anything, what that text out of the blue means and where he's been invited to. There's nothing for it but to wait and find out, since he doubts that Kanda would reply to him even if he had the gall to ask, so he spends his night and most of the following morning stewing over it, growing steadily more anxious about it as he dresses in a white shirt and his blazer for whatever event this is, making a quick breakfast before he heads out for the bus.

He follows the street numbers once he arrives at his stop until he gets to the one written in Kanda's text, finding himself outside a small, unassuming building, a garden around the drive peppered with flowers and sporting a cluster of people in dark, formal attire. The knot in Allen's stomach winds itself tighter as he walks closer, spotting Kanda among the group of people he doesn't recognise, dressed simply in black slacks and vest, hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck, a cigarette pinched gently between his fingers. "Oh, you're actually here," he says as Allen steps up next to him, his voice indecipherable. "I wasn't really expecting you to show up."

"I don't see why I wouldn't," he replies, turning to observe the group of people that Kanda apparently knows, from the occasional nod or wave thrown his way. Looking around, Allen suddenly has a very clear idea of what this is for, but he feels like he needs to ask anyway. "What is all this?"

"A funeral," Kanda says curtly, and even though he knew it was coming, it makes Allen's gut churn.

He swallows the lump forming in his throat, suddenly feeling very awkward. "Who is it for?" he asks carefully, sincerely hoping he doesn't offend.

Kanda is silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches something. "Daisya," he replies, pausing as he draws a breath around his cigarette, then adds, "My foster brother." This must be why he'd been away, Allen thinks, piecing it together. He didn't even know that Kanda had a brother, but there are a lot of things about Kanda he doesn't know, simply because he sees no reason to mention them. "Come on, they're heading inside," he says, flicking the butt to the ground as he turns, and Allen nervously follows him up the steps into the mortuary.

He's only ever been to one funeral before, which was a much smaller affair with _much_ less emotion, so Allen feels terribly out of place, sitting amongst people he doesn't know, people in grieving, listening to the eulogy and wondering what kind of person Daisya Barry might have been. Kanda sits perfectly still throughout the whole thing, face blank and posture straight, looking more like he was supposed to be modelling for a painting than sitting at his brother's service. Allen wonders whether or not he and Daisya had a good relationship, if they fought often (which is bound to be a yes- there hasn't been a single person Allen knows of that Kanda hasn't picked a fight with), if they were on bad terms. Maybe he's just very good at keeping whatever he's feeling deeply hidden.

It's a very morbid affair, as one would expect. Kanda's guardian breaks down entirely in the middle of his speech, his two other siblings speak about how, while Daisya was one for making mischief, his antics will be missed. A painting is burned, flowers are laid around the casket and set atop the lid. Family and friends and colleagues mill around, shed tears, comfort each other. His girlfriend is driven home in shambles. Allen watches this all impassively, feeling sympathy for the people around him but unable to procure the proper emotion within himself to share in their pain. Perhaps that's for the best, Allen thinks. He never knew Daisya; to pretend he was mourning would feel wrong, though he does care.

Kanda is swept up in conversation with his siblings after the proceedings, Allen standing out of earshot as they converse, the younger of his two brothers more emotional than either of the others. Allen's eyes are drawn to the eldest of the three as he walks towards him, led by what he assumes to be a seeing-eye dog. The man stops just before him, looking at a spot just left of Allen's shoulder. "Pardon me," he says, silently motioning for his dog to sit. "Allen?"

He wonders if Kanda talks about him when he's not around, and if so, whether or not he actually remembers his name. That apparently seems to be the case. "Yes," he replies gently, smiling at him before he remembers he wouldn't be able to see it. "You're one of Kanda's brothers?"

The man smiles, holding out his hand. "Yes. I'm Noise Marie." Allen takes his hand, shaking it firmly. "And this little girl is Noel," he adds, gesturing down to his dog.

"She's very well behaved," Allen says, smiling down at the retriever as he worries about whether or not he's making the right kind of conversation. "Have you had her long?"

"Nearly ten years," he says gently, leaning down a little to pet her. "She's been my eyes for a long time now." There's a pause, Allen's eyes drifting back to where Kanda was (almost gently) trying to pry his crying brother off of him. His attention is brought back as Noise speaks. "I'd like to thank you for coming, Allen."

"Oh, it's alright," he begins out of habit, catches himself. "I mean, I probably shouldn't be here at all, but Kanda invited me, so."

"I'm still surprised he did, honestly," Noise muses, tilting his head a little. "But that's what I wanted to thank you for. It's not often he trusts people enough in times like these, so I'm glad he has someone like you helping him out. He can be insufferable at times, I know, but he does have some heart in him. Take care of him for me, will you?"

Allen isn't really sure what to say. Yesterday he wouldn't have even thought about believing that Kanda had emotions that weren't anger, but seeing him here today, mellow and absent and carefully schooled, he finds it to be painfully true. "I'll do my best," he replies, and Noise smiles warmly at him, before turning to return to his siblings. Kanda speaks with him in clipped sentences, and then his eyes meet Allen's, only briefly before he turns away again. Not for the first time, he wishes that Kanda would actually tell him what he was thinking, or even just _anything_ to go on.

Most people move back outside after the procession, Allen and Kanda included, standing to the side as they watch the casket be moved from the building to the black van that waits outside. Kanda's guardian (Tiedoll, Allen remembers) waves to them as he and both of Kanda's siblings get in the car, and they watch it drive off in silence. "Where are they going?" Allen asks, looking back over at Kanda.

"To oversee the cremation," he replies simply, shifting on his feet.

"You're not going with them?"

He pauses, looking down at Allen with narrowed eyes. He tries to figure out what it is that's writ into his features, but he composes himself before he can figure out, looking back away. "No," is all he says, staring off towards the street. There's a moment of silence, and then he sighs, reaching a hand up to fix his hair. "I want to get out of this joint."

"Oh," Allen says, not sure how to respond to that. "I'm sure they'll understand if you want to go home."

He scoffs. "I don't really want to go back there right now," he mutters, and Allen gets the feeling that he's conceding more than he'd usually be willing to. He suddenly feels very aware of the trust Kanda is putting in him, and knows he should tread carefully.

An idea occurs to him, and he hopes he isn't making the wrong decision by voicing it. "You could come back to my place, if you like," he offers, and Kanda looks sharply at him. "I mean, I'm the only one there, and you can... do whatever."

That didn't really come out at all how he planned, but he can see Kanda considering it, staring at Allen as if trying to figure out whether or not it's some kind of joke. Eventually he looks back away, visibly deflating a little. "Let's get the fuck of here, then," he says, stepping forward to head towards the street where he'd presumably parked his car. Allen takes this a big step and follows close behind him.

Neither of them speak for the first few minutes of the drive, until Kanda states that he doesn't know where he's going, so Allen gives him brief directions, the occasional 'left here' or 'next right' the only things breaking the heavy atmosphere. Allen hates these kinds of environments, but he supposes it can't be helped. He's still confused by the fact that he's with Kanda at all; if anything, Allen would have thought he'd pick Lenalee, who he's known much longer and is much more sympathetic. Then again, that may be the reason he didn't.

His reluctance begins to show as they pull up in Allen's driveway, the barest hesitation before he steps out and follows the younger boy up the steps. Beyond the bare front door is a house that at first looks empty, sparsely furnished and feeling no more lived in than a hotel room. Allen leads him through the kitchen towards the living room, his mind occupied with where to go from here. "Where the hell are your parents?" Kanda asks, looking around the bare shelves of the kitchen on their way past. Allen always had a penchant for keeping things clean, mostly because he often had to pack things up in a hurry.

He thinks about pointing out that anything close he once had to a relative is long gone, but considering the day they've just had, he decides it's better not to. "Who knows," is all he says, wondering if Cross even remembers he exists. The likelihood of that is getting slimmer every day, but as long as the rent is somehow mysteriously getting paid, he doesn't really care. "Do you want a drink or anything?"

Kanda mulls it over, looking around the bare living room. "Do you have any vodka?"

Allen gapes at him. "I'm _sixteen, _Kanda."

"That's nice. Do you?"

He sighs, and points to the kitchen. "The cupboard above the stove. Glasses are to the right of that." He watches as Kanda wanders back into the kitchen, perusing the wines and vodkas in the cupboard before picking one apparently suitable to his tastes, taking a shot glass from the cupboard beside it. He pours the shot, downs it in one fell sweep, coughs at the feel of it, then takes another before screwing the vodka closed again. "Should you really be drinking?" Allen asks, frowning slightly.

Kanda gives him a nonchalant shrug, sinking down onto the old couch beside him. He glances behind him to the piano that sits facing the room, his eyes narrowing at the pale, polished wood. "You play piano?"

"Just because I have one," he begins, pouring himself a glass of water, "Doesn't mean I know how to _play_. But yes, I know a little."

"Pretentious British bastard," he mutters, and Allen scowls at him.

"Hardly. I'm kind of hoping that the alcohol makes you slightly less of a twat."

"Don't get your hopes up." He stares Kanda down, slouched across the couch like he owns the place, but at least he doesn't look as uncomfortable as he had ten minutes ago. "Play something," he says suddenly, and Allen starts a little.

"Pardon?"

"You said you could play, right? Play something."

Allen looks at him for a long moment, trying to figure out if he's joking or actually serious. "Really?" he asks, trying not to let his voice sound too dubious. "You want me to play the piano for you?"

"Not _for me_, that sounds sappy and gross," Kanda mutters, and he frowns. "Just play, do something to fill the silence that isn't completely awful."

He isn't sure how he feels about playing for Kanda. The piano has always been his, and his alone, a solitary weight to hold him down whenever he finds himself drifting. It feels too personal, too private. But, he thinks, looking at the forcefully stoic man across from him, it might not be so bad. Kanda had shown him a piece of his personal life today, and perhaps he should repay the favour. He moves over to sit at the piano, stretching his fingers and lifting the fallboard, his mind running through songs he could play as he gently taps a couple of keys. Kanda calls an unenthusiastic 'boo' over the back of the couch, and then the right song occurs to him.

Kanda is silent as he plays, staring across the room to the boy that sits at the piano and begins to play a tune that sings wordlessly in his ears. He isn't sure if it's the music or the vodka, but something twists in his gut and rises warm in his chest and he is transfixed, letting the sound of it was over him. Allen plays beautifully, he thinks, and even though he has never truly bothered to appreciate it before, he can understand why the man had chosen the piano to take to; it suits him perfectly, pale silver leant over gleaming gold, the lovingly worn keys pressed gently beneath gloved fingers. It's a masterpiece, and not just the lilting melodies he produces.

Allen is nervous when he stops playing, eyes flicking to Kanda's, and he realises he has been staring, watching him for at least a majority of the time he played. There is none of the apprehension he had expected in sharing his music somebody he, in all honesty, barely knows, but he cannot help the growing confusion as Kanda narrows his eyes, looking to be deep in thought. "I should go," he then states abruptly, rising to his feet and startling Allen a little.

"Oh. Um, okay," Allen replies, getting up after him to follow him to the door. He watches the careful expression on Kanda's face as he steps out the front door, rummaging around his pockets for the familiar sound of his cluttered keychain. He thinks about the text he'd received yesterday, the tone in Kanda's voice when he expressed mild surprise at the fact he'd shown up, remembers the look in his eyes in the fleeting glances caught across rooms. "You're welcome," he calls from the doorway, and Kanda pauses, keys stilling in his hands.

"Yeah," is all he says, and Allen smiles as he watches him go.


End file.
